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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465475">A Gentleman's Prerogative</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes'>Mis_Shapes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Regency AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Boxing &amp; Fisticuffs, Carriage Sex, Dancing, F/M, Fanart, Gambling, Happy Ending, Horses, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Tea, balls, carriages, courting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:42:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Many would liken blue irises to the sea or pools one could find  themselves lost in, but Robb’s are a clear summer sky, the colour of the  heavens below which they have spent long happy days. They have him  think of games below a beating sun, of scrumping apples they may have  been gladly given had they asked, but that was all part of the fun, of  lying back on the bank of the river dreaming of adulthood and their  freedom. Theon could laugh at that now, their flights of fantasy. Some  of his best memories were formed under the ether. For others only the  blue of Robb’s eyes hung over him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It has been over a year since Theon, Viscount Greyjoy, parted on cool terms from his school mate, the now styled 'Earl of Winterfell'. With Lord Winterfell having returned from his travels across the continent, the pair are thrown back together at the season's social events. With their attentions captured by one another, they find themselves somewhat distracted from goings on of the bon ton.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Asha Greyjoy &amp; Theon Greyjoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Regency AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Earl of Winterfell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CafeLeningrad/gifts">CafeLeningrad</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If you had told me early last year I would find myself writing a Regency AU I'd have laughed, and I'm still baffled as to how this has come about (Emma may have had something to do with it) and until starting this the only Regency set reading I'd ever done was Austen works so this was an experience. Darling CafeLeningrad, I know you are not opposed to Historical AUs and I really do hope you don't dislike this one! I know I got carried away so don't worry about reading it all if you don't want to 💜</p><p>Will be completed on reveal day (1st March). Should anyone enjoy the AU I do have plans to write another within it so I will sort a series closer to the time or something.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
    
</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Theon is woken by a brash affront to the senses, vaguely aware of doors opening right before curtains are drawn sharply on their rails with a scrape. Beside him, Kyra merely murmurs in her sleep. Cracking open an eye, he can see dust hanging in the swathes of sunlight streaming in through the windows right before one is pushed up and open. The breeze that whips through the room is enough, now, to make his companion shift. Her head turns on his thigh, more curls falling from its pins and Prussian blue ribbons. Briefly, the movement rouses some interest, but, thankfully, it is not enough to detract from the situation he fears he is in.</p><p>He feels his sister’s presence before he turns his head to acknowledge it. A forced cough is enough to pull Mallister sitting in an armchair from his sleep and before he knows it the poor sod is scrambling to his feet. “Lady Asha,” he breathes.</p><p>“Mr Mallister, I had not thought to see you here. I am glad to see my brother does not lack proper company altogether.”</p><p>Theon cringes then rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and forces them open in time to see the withering look she gives Patrek at the sight of him retching and bringing up the contents of his stomach into a coal bucket, untied cravat falling dangerously low. “Sister,” he says with faux enthusiasm for her presence, “it is good to see you.”</p><p>“Mmm,” she hums, disbelief evident. “I shall wait for you in the parlour.” This is what forces him to acknowledge that the four of them and items of their dress are strewn across the drawing room.</p><p>Hurriedly, he fixes the ties at the top of his shirt and lifts Kyra’s head gently from his lap to lie her back onto the chaise longue after he has shifted. He had best hope her rouge and powder is not found on the weave afterwards; God knows he cannot afford to have it reupholstered himself. Not with the debts he has racked up. Thank the lord it had not been his father arriving. He would certainly not win a raise or advance in his allowance if that were the case. Forgoing full dress, he tucks in his shirt, hikes his stockings back up, retrieves his shoes, and steps over Bessa laid amongst pillows on the floor, hem dangerously high.</p><p>“Brother,” says Asha sternly when he enters the room, “are you out of your mind? I appear to have found you in what is perhaps aptly described as a den of iniquity yet shares a striking resemblance to our father’s townhouse.” He says nothing, reluctant to feed the fire. “What have you to say?”</p><p>“I say what I do in my spare time is a gentleman’s prerogative.”</p><p>Asha scoffs as she pulls off her leather gloves. “Gentleman is it? All I see is a rake.”</p><p>Theon blithely wonders whether it were possible to be a rake if not a gentleman. “And what have I before me?” he asks instead, flapping out a hand and motioning towards her dark attire. “For it looks to be a spinster if not a widow. Must you always look so… dowdy.”</p><p>“Dowdy?” She has a little point. The silhouette may be somewhat outdated for a gentlewoman, that much is true, but the style of the coat and waistcoat could be described as fashionable if she wore it only as a riding habit as intended, or if it were on a man.</p><p>Theon relents with her approaching him. “Dour then. Truly, sister, perhaps you might try a ribbon or two. Some lace maybe. Not for you?” he jests and laughs at the slap of her gloves on his arm. “Perhaps a feather might do. I hear they are all the rage.” Every year she seems to stray further from the fashion of her own sex. Their father did always wish she had been born a son.</p><p>Arching her brow, Asha turns to look at him. “Hear you say? I do suppose this is from the mouths of the doxies you cavort with.” It is clear to him that she refers to his guests on account of her tone. Ordinarily, to anyone but her, he might not see it as necessary to come to their defense. </p><p>“Actresses,” he corrects. He could add that he wouldn’t be able to keep a mistress even if he were inclined to.</p><p>“They are one and the same, dearest,” she says, averting her eyes by looking out into the street through the small panes of glass in the window when one of the maids enters with a tea tray and lays out its contents on the table.</p><p>Theon drops himself into a chair. “What are you doing here, Asha?”</p><p>“I had heard you had left your lodgings across town. Am I to assume your means have run dry?” She doesn’t wait for his answer. Nor does she pause to scold him for frittering away his coin. “In any case, I thought to come on ahead of father to ensure things were in order.” He’s somewhat taken aback by this, though he has no reason to be; for all their disagreements, it is quite like her to have his best interests at heart. Even with her penchant to pander to filial expectations. “I shall be attending to a few matters of my own the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. I suggest you take the time to become the very picture of decorum and propriety.” She looks to her favoured footman. “Qarl, please ensure we are ready to depart once more.”</p><p>Theon purses his lips tight and decides not to comment as he pours out a cup of tea.</p><p>“Theon, please heed my warning and prepare for his arrival,” she pleads while her pet leaves to do her bidding. “The estate is no longer entailed. He will contemplate disinheriting you if you persist.”</p><p>“Let him,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, though beneath the surface he is in no way so indifferent to the opinion of his father or the money for that matter.</p><p>“And pray tell, what do you mean to live on? The good charity of others?”</p><p>“Perhaps I shall live by my paintbrush.” It’s a fanciful notion and he frames it as such, and yet in his heart of hearts he knows he may desire such a thing. Some might believe it great luck on his part, in a way, to raise in stature from the third son to first. Some gauche individuals have even said as much. But Theon curses the day the spotlight turned on him. He doesn’t doubt he’d have been expected to enter a profession, but he could once afford some freedom. Even after the loss of both brothers to it, he had still faced calls to join the navy. </p><p>He can still hear the gossip mill surrounding his discharge. <em>To think, an Admiral with no son left to take up his mantle.</em></p><p>“You do not have the work ethic to do such a thing and I shan’t be able to support you if he does as I fear and passes the estate to our uncle in his will.” </p><p>“Victarion?” He scoffs. “Why in damnation would the old fop do that?” He chooses not to point out that she will surely receive a more than substantial allowance. The dowry his mother had brought to the marriage was not insignificant either.</p><p>“I do know you pay no mind to the struggles of my sex, but you cannot be <em>this</em> naive, brother. Our uncle may pass on his name to his heir while I cannot.”</p><p>“Of which he has none and shows no signs of gaining one either.”</p><p>“And I shudder to think who’s hands our home would fall into if that were the case.” She alludes to their further two uncles, both of which are insufferable, but not even Victarion is dimwitted nor forgiving enough to hand the reins to Euron, and Aeron would be liable to divesting the family’s wealth to the church.</p><p>“You worry for nought.” He himself is unsure what he means by this. Whether he intends to keep his father’s favour, believes he would pass on the estate in its entirety to Asha, or assumes everything would all work out in the end if Victarion inherited.</p><p>“You have the liberty of saying such a thing. You who may enter a trade. What of me?”</p><p>“Far be it for me to point out, but is marriage not an option?”</p><p>“I have no thought of matrimony at present or for the future. I mean to keep my independence.”</p><p>“As do I,” Theon tells her pointedly. “But I shall try to keep scandal to a minimum while he is like to hear of it.”</p><p>She sighs heavily, conceding that this may be the best he has to offer. He is not about to become the model of perfection. “See that you do, and in haste.” It seems that this lecture is over with when she heads to the door, cane in hand. “It would do you well to consider settling yourself. I dare say you will have your choice of ladies, even excluding those who find your behaviour abhorrent and irredeemable.”</p><p>It is not long after she has departed that the amiable Mr Patrek Mallister appears in the doorway, a sheepish smile spread across his face which is still pale in complexion. “Upon my word, Greyjoy, that was an unfortunate awakening,” he says, prompting Theon to join him in good humour. “Perhaps a spot of shooting in the country is in order? Then in the eve let us take to the assembly hall and go hunting again for it seems you are in want of a wi--” He doesn’t reach the end of his sentence on account of the pillow hurtling towards him and leaves it at that on his recovery from the laughter it provokes until he has a cup of tea laden with sugar in hand. “I do have reason to believe we had best attend. Though I shan’t be letting you in on the secret just yet.”</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Despite Patrek’s insistence that the ball would be worth attending, Theon is yet to discover why at least an hour in, and is content to loiter around the card tables with port wine in hand, avoiding any poor soul who might think him a desirable suitor on wealth and title alone. As the heir to Seaguard might say, he is fond of dancing, but the company leaves something lacking. The attendees are of little note. He’s close to begging leave when the Master of Ceremonies cries out a few names worth his interest.</p><p>“Her Grace The Duchess of Stormlands! The Lady Sansa Stark. And Miss Poole.”</p><p>The name Stark is enough to raise his head. Though they begrudgingly attend local events at their country estates, the family are not known to join the ton, and he had not thought their eldest daughter yet old enough to be out in society.</p><p>Theon looks to Patrek for confirmation that this is what they have been waiting for. It might provoke some curiosity but he hardly thinks it worth his presence. In return, Patrek shrugs a shoulder and flashes a smile. “An introduction?”</p><p>With a sigh, Theon inclines his head and together they weave their way to the newcomers.</p><p>“Lady Sansa.” He bows to Sansa, dressed in light muslin sprigged with small embroidered blue flowers he has good reason to suspect she has added herself and matching ribbons, then to her pretty friend he had become acquainted to last time he had found himself at the Stark residence, Winterfell. “Miss Poole.” Finally, to Cersei, he bows a little deeper and tries to keep a smirk from his lips. He has no good reason to have already made her acquaintance, but that had not stopped him. “Your grace, how do you do?”</p><p>“Very well, Lord Greyjoy,” she says, green eyes drifting past him to the dance with an air of forced disinterest. The gold edging on her fan catches in the light as she flicks it. “I trust you are in good health?” </p><p>“May I present Mr Patrek Mallister.” Theon gestures towards his friend waiting patiently following a brief nod.</p><p>“Mr Mallister,” they each repeat with courtesy.</p><p>The moment Cersei is content they are behaving with civility, she sweeps away in emerald green crepe to join others more worthy of her company. Theon would imagine she has no reason to doubt her charges will stray from propriety, even if she knows him to be lacking.</p><p>“Miss Poole, do you happen to have space on your card to allow me a dance?” Patrek offers out his hand for Jeyne to place her own and leads her away, well aware it would be of benefit to him to be able to speak with Sansa alone. The girl looks delighted enough with the prospect that she looks to Sansa to share a short giggle.</p><p>“Theon,” Sansa lets herself break out into a smile once they are left alone and takes his hands into hers excitedly with sisterly affection, “what a pleasure it is to see you here.”</p><p>“And you also, but surely you cannot be out yet,” he teases, “you are but eleven.”</p><p>“I am eighteen!” Sansa laughs and hits him lightly on the chest.</p><p>“Is Lady Stark not with you?”</p><p>Shaking her head with solemn expression, Sansa says, “have you not heard? Bran took a fall. Mamma prevailed upon Lady Stormlands to bring us to London in her stead.”</p><p>“That grieves me to hear,” both for Bran’s misfortune, and his in that he would not be graced with the presence of Catelyn Stark, “but I am glad of Lady Stormlands’ kind nature.” Kind nature, in truth, will have nothing to do with it. If obliged to give his opinion he would assume she has her own gain in mind. It would hardly be a disaster if Sansa were kept from the Marriage Mart a year longer. Not with her young age and only one sister three years her junior.</p><p>“Have you yet met with my elder brother?” she asks in a happier spirit, straightening up the shawl looped over her arms.</p><p>Theon frowns. He does occasionally happen across her natural born half brother but he shouldn’t think this something she might enquire about. “Mr Snow?”</p><p>Voice hinting at her surprise, she shakes her head. Pearl earrings swing from her ears. “No, silly! Robb. He has returned from Italy just this past fortnight.”</p><p>Happening across Sansa is a happy event but seeing her brother is an altogether greater prospect. Robb, the eldest of the Stark children, had been a close friend during the time he had been shipped off to board at Eton, but in recent years they have had little opportunity to be in one another’s presence. This past year, infact, Robb has been traipsing across the continent on his ‘Grand Tour’; completing his education.</p><p>“Ah, here he is now,” Sansa says, raising on her tiptoes to see better over his shoulder and wave to her brother with a gloved hand. “Come see who I have found!”</p><p>The Earl of Winterfell as he is now known, Theon acknowledges on turning to look, has done some growing up since last he saw him. <em>Has he always been this tall?</em> he wonders. He was certainly not so broad. His entire face lights up on seeing him, prompting Theon’s stomach to somersault at being so wholeheartedly welcomed by another. He descends quickly upon him, sweeping him into an embrace complete with a clap on the back which shows the promise of taking the wind out of him.</p><p>“Greyjoy, it’s mighty good to see you. At last! You have been missed.” He seems so energetic, so close, then abruptly he’s stepping back and clapping Theon on the shoulder instead. The change between unbridled affection to polite gentility is clear, at least to him. “Has he not, sister?”</p><p>“He has indeed,” Sansa agrees, smiling prettily with her hands clasped before her.</p><p>The Adam's apple, just visible over his loose cravat, bobs on Robb’s throat and, for just a moment, they lock eyes. Many would liken blue irises to the sea or pools one could find themselves lost in, but Robb’s are a clear summer sky, the colour of the heavens below which they have spent long happy days. They have him think of games below a beating sun, of scrumping apples they may have been gladly given had they asked, but that was all part of the fun, of lying back on the bank of the river dreaming of adulthood and their freedom. Theon could laugh at that now, their flights of fantasy. Some of his best memories were formed under the ether. For others only the blue of Robb’s eyes hung over him.</p><p>He should not be thinking of those times. Not now. Not ever. This is how they came to part on somewhat cool terms, Theon believes. In any case, they were the pursuits of the young. Or so people say. Something one grew out of. Something Robb is like to have grown out of since last they met. Theon himself, his inclination is under doubt, in his own mind at least. He’s under no delusion that others believe him to be a deviant, even if there is little proof to it.</p><p>Theon searches for something to say, anything to break the tension he’s building up inside. “How have you been? I do suppose you have some tales to tell?”</p><p>“For another time, perhaps.”</p><p>“Out of present company’s earshot?”</p><p>Robb’s chuckle holds the promise of setting things to right. How has he been this long without his company? “Indeed,” he says in spite of the raised eyebrows of his sibling before throwing a wink into the equation just as Jeyne appears back with them.</p><p>“Ah, Miss Poole, have you been released?” Theon jokes with her.</p><p>The humour is lost on Jeyne, or, more likely, it is overshadowed by the urbanity she has been drilled in. With no title nor wealth, her demeanour is one of her greatest assets in society. Her good contacts do not hinder her prospects however.  </p><p>Robb catches his eye with a sly smile that he goes on to conceal with the drip of his head. “May I have this dance, or are you now exhausted, Miss Jeyne?”</p><p>“I should be glad of another.”</p><p>“Lady Sansa?” Theon extends his hand out towards Sansa who titters at his formality now she is free from the watchful eye of her minder.</p><p>“I’d be delighted. It is so very difficult to find a partner with whom to dance when one’s brother is intent on letting his disapproval known.” At first this strikes him as odd. Then, perhaps sensing his confusion, Sansa inclines her head to the side of the room where, in the eye catching scarlet coat of the militia, Captain Snow, the natural born Stark son, stands.</p><p>Smiling, he leads her to join Robb and Miss Poole, and leans to her ear to whisper, “you are in luck, for I have never been known to shy away from Snow’s disapproval.”</p><p>“The second is only moderately better.”</p><p>Sansa is a fine dancer. By all accounts she is a rather fine young gentlewoman. Talented in the art of embroidery and an exquisite player of both the pianoforte and the harp, if any woman could be afforded the term accomplished, it is the charming Miss Stark. If she had been just a year or two older perhaps she might have accompanied her brother on his venture. It would be fair to say her proficiency in both French and Italian surpasses his. Or had been when last they saw each other. Perhaps it is not only Lord Winterfell’s appearance that has undergone changes. Certainly, there is something in his demeanor that is a stranger to Theon. Robb’s skills could never be described as delicate nor are they taught in schoolrooms. Sansa is the member of the Stark family to which his enjoyment and grace in dance is best matched, but it’s not her refined movement to which he is drawn.</p><p>When it comes to Theon’s own dress, the favouring of breeches and stockings over trousers at these functions is displeasing, but they do leave a rather grand view of Stark’s calves which he has the ability to admire whilst he and Sansa are paused during the jaunty dance. Additional and very much appreciated consequences of neighbouring rather than being partnered with Robb include the proximity at which he passes, and the albeit brief moments once they’ve rounded each other after being back to back in which they catch one another’s eye. In these moments, caught up in the jolly spirit with auburn curls bouncing with the jig, Robb grins broadly at him and he’s taken back to another time.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>The way in which Asha looks up from her book, slow with pursed lips, when Theon enters the room the following morning tells him he has reason to be wary. She has been waiting for him. The drawing room, bathed in sunlight, is in a decidedly different state to the day prior, there are no garments strewn across the floor today and the help have seen fit to bring in a crystal vase of peonies, but her tune is unlikely to have had such a quick change.</p><p>“I hear you partnered with Lady Sansa Stark not once but twice,” she says. “Have you taken my word to heart?”</p><p>Theon holds back the undignified snort he’d quite like to make. The implication that he has any intentions in regards to Sansa and courtship is laughable. Not so much because she is so undesirable than he had been true in his statement just the day before. He has no wish to marry and the lady in question very much does. “A good-morrow to you also, dear sister. Is it not a little early for idle gossip?”</p><p>“It is very nearly noon,” she tells him following a weary sigh.</p><p>“And with whom have you been speaking?” he asks, taking a seat and inspecting the cake left on the table from breakfast. If his father were present he would have had it clear by now. In luck, Theon is left with a honey bun spiced with ginger to indulge in while he takes tea. If he were alone he’d be mighty tempted by the decanter of sherry on the sideboard.</p><p>“One of the Mormont sisters I happened across.”</p><p>“Did she inform you that Robb Stark was in attendance?”</p><p>“I had gathered.”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Theon murmurs over his bone china cup.</p><p>“You mean me to infer that it was your reunion that kept you close to the sister? I suppose then it can not have escaped you that you could be brothers in law and not only in affection should you marry?”</p><p>“Your attempt to matchmake is in vain. I have it on good authority that Lady Sansa is as good as engaged.”</p><p>“A lot can happen between ‘as good as engaged’ and the aisle.” She then turns back to her book under the pretense of being disinterested in this titbit.</p><p>He’s between keeping her in the dark and telling her anyway. If Sansa were to become betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon, both of wealthy titled families, as intended it would be the talk of the <em>beau monde. </em>As it happens, his thoughts are interrupted by Qarl in the doorway.</p><p>“Mr Tristifer Botley,” the footman announces and provokes Asha to choke on her tea as he steps away to admit the guest. Theon does not know of this fellow, who is surprisingly handsome as it turns out, but her reaction is promising.</p><p>Taking this as his cue to be on his way and an opportunity to leave with no questions asked, Theon stands from his seat in time with his sister and affords the unknown man in a naval officer’s uniform a short bow. “I shall give you some privacy.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir,” Mr Botley utters, bowing with a bicorne hat in his hand.</p><p>“I do not believe that will be necessary,” Asha argues in a futile attempt to have him stay a moment.</p><p>Although it is somewhat tempting to remain and witness the goings on, he really did ought to be on his way. It’s already past the hour at which he’d agreed to meet Patrek.</p><p>As he strides down the street he encounters more than a couple of pairs of eyes upon, looking him up and down. He’s never been a stranger to these glances, whether they watch with curiosity, admiration or distaste. The air is surprisingly crisp for the time of the year, and with the sun high at its peak, owing to a cool breeze.</p><p>The air in the boxing saloon is hot and humid in contrast. Those inside nod their greetings on the whole and a few acquaintances part helpfully to allow him to join Mallister by the practice area where a small crowd has gathered. From a distance he can see Patrek tug at the Frey lad by his sleeve to speak with him, but neither of them take their eyes from the Earl of Winterfell, bare fists raised, and his opponent.</p><p>“Young thing,” Baelish tells Theon when he passes by. “Going in strong. All this travel they are afforded and they still come back having learnt nothing of Aesop.”</p><p>Though Theon scoffs, he does at least refrain from rolling his eyes. Baelish would speak as though they have commonality which would be utterly absurd. As is the idea that Robb might heed the word of a fable.  “I shouldn’t think one goes to Greece to read.” In any case, he has no knowledge of where Stark’s trip took him other than Sansa Stark’s reference to Italy. Not that he is inclined to waste more of his breath on Petyr Baelish. “You misjudge him, sir.” </p><p>“Care to make a wager to that effect?”</p><p>Theon takes another look at him before turning his attention to where Frey holds a water bottle to Robb’s lips, bidding him to take a drink. He should not engage in this. Not simply because as his sister was rightly concerned, his funds are running rather low, he has in fact run up something of a debt with a fiendish moneylender, but because if his instincts are correct Winterfell would have words with him if he ever found out. That is more of a deterrent than his poor finances which might very well be improved with a large successful gamble. Yet his, perhaps blind, faith has him itching. The spill of water from the bottle has Robb’s shirt sticking to the front of him and though it's a pleasant sight it’s overshadowed by the look of sheer determination in his eyes. He nods his assent in a moment of madness and shakes Baelish’s hand in something of a haze.</p><p>He’s barely acknowledged by Patrek on his approach and it’s not until he sits himself down on the bench his friend is neglecting in favour of standing on his feet trying to fight Robb’s battle himself with words alone and opens a snuff box painted with a likeness of a former lover by his own hand - and immaculately dressed in the visible panel at least - that he truly looks at him.</p><p>“You are with us uncommonly early,” his friend calls over.</p><p>“Do you wish me to leave?” Theon jokes in return. </p><p>Who can say what distracts Stark in that moment. Whether it is the cessation of Mallister yelling encouragement his way, their voices, be it because it is familiar or simply just an annoyance, or something else, he takes a brief look at them before one of the Redwyne twins - Theon has never cared to learn the means of distinction between the pair - lands a harsh punch. Patrek certainly blames Theon whatever the truth. If it weren’t for his concern at seeing the red of blood trickle from his chum’s brow he might laugh at the unjust suggestion, or Patrek’s indignation.</p><p>Theon is, however, a little too pleased for comfort at the way Robb swats Frey away when he proceeds to fuss over him once they break. In true Robb Stark fashion, it’s more likely the temper sparked by Redwyne pulling one over on him that has him pushing back than discomfort. One could never say that his technique suffers for it, but it isn’t the stiff prescribed style Theon is used to witnessing at the saloon. It takes only a short while for it to be over and done with from then on. There are multiple reasons he can be glad for Robb’s victory. For one, Baelish is not like to rush to his side to make good as he might if it were Theon who owed the money. This has two advantages. Firstly, he is free to conceal his latest misdemeanor. Secondly, though it is not second in his mind at the time, is that he may concentrate his attentions on the young Stark’s physique when he would otherwise be prevented.</p><p>It seems his interest does not go unnoticed, for Mallister, standing with his hands in the pockets of his breeches while they wait, looks down on the seated Theon and gifts him one of his looks. All he provides in return is an honest shrug of his shoulders. When Robb and the Frey lad do finally meet with them, the boxer passes his fingers once through his curls and pushes them back from his face before he seemingly recalls the current fashion and sweeps them back forwards. If he were not wrapped up in admiration, Theon would envy him. To have been gifted such a romantic tousle of locks.</p><p>“Greyjoy,” says Patrek, now clapping him on the shoulder, “the dear boy speaks of purchasing a carriage for himself, I have told them there is no better man to advise on such a thing. It is no modest sum he gives himself to make the deal.”</p><p>A smirk rises unbidden to Theon’s lips at the flustered demeanor Winterfell now presents. Mallister is right to assume this would catch his interest. It also promises an opportunity to speak with Robb in confidence. “I should gladly assist in any way he wishes, but perhaps he had another in mind for the task. He did not approach me afterall.”</p><p>“I only thought you the busy sort, sir.”</p><p>If Theon were another he might have very well have shown his surprise. Certainly, inside he feels the twist of his gut at the address. Not long had passed since he had once believed himself to be the lad’s closest confidante and here he is now speaking so formally. Rather than disclose the truth of his feelings, Theon arches a brow. “Do you think me so old?”</p><p>“Certainly not, only my senior.” There’s something of a twinkle in those eyes he finds so appealing.</p><p>“You are teasing me,” acknowledges Theon as Mallister is good enough to turn his focus elsewhere and take Olyvar Frey with him.</p><p>A delightful chuckle reaches his ears. “That I am.” Robb pauses. His tongue darts once over a plump lower lip and he shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot until he does at last turn his hands palm up and chooses to explain himself. “I thought I may be putting you out. I imagine you can make better use of your time. It has been some time since we spoke at length.”</p><p>“It is rather hard to when another leaves the country,” Theon says hotly, declining to comment on the nature of their parting.</p><p>“I mean to suggest that I suppose you may have more pressing matters to attend to… That you have other persons with whom to… “</p><p>It is possible Robb intends to speak only cordially, but his tone is a touch irksome. “To?”</p><p>Robb lowers his voice below the rabble. “To assist and seek amusement.”</p><p>“Ah,” says Theon softly, he passes his thumb over the silver head of the cane he holds. “I see. You are jealous.”</p><p>Ever stubborn, Robb denies the accusation, a line creasing his forehead. “That is not so.”</p><p>“It is not?” Theon asks, trying not to find this conversation itself too amusing.</p><p>“No.” Clearing his throat, Robb rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. The shirt pulls taut from his waistband. “But mayhaps you have no interest in seeing me now that I…”</p><p>“You?” prompts Theon.</p><p>“I am less likely to be led astray.”</p><p>He can’t keep himself from emitting a gurgle of laughter. “Is that so?” In his own way, Robb had been as bad as him, the instigator of many follies, when not in danger of being caught out. </p><p>“Indeed, it is,” he says quite seriously. Lifting that handsome chin of his, Theon fancies Robb would not look out of place on some ancient coin. Certainly, he would make a sublime model should he ever be convinced to sit for a portrait.</p><p>Theon, meaning to tease, maybe even to test, chooses his words carefully and takes care to voice it in tones as sultry as the room had been. “I am vexed to think you believe me to have only sordid intentions --”</p><p>“I did not say that!” snaps Robb, cheeks flushed. “Damn you!”</p><p>Crossing his arms over his chest, Theon finds himself straightening his posture as he raises his brows to enquire. “Then I am at a loss as to why you did not seek me out.”</p><p>“It was with no ill intent. You must think me very disagreeable to believe such a thing.”</p><p>“On the contrary, I have only the greatest of affections for you,” Theon puts it honestly, the words slipping out in a way things tend to when one quarrels, leaving him thunderstruck.</p><p>Robb pauses, no doubt thrown a little off-kilter at the admission as Theon, who’s arms slip, is. The pair turn their gaze directly upon one another, momentarily locking eyes. “Oh, very well then,” he says at last after some time spent recollecting himself with hands on hips, “but I must tell you, I am quite determined that I should purchase the most practical of vehicles… Do not look at me like that,” he says, eyes shining with mirth as he fails not to be affected by Theon’s grin, “I shall not be swayed.”</p><p>They each know the other far too well. Theon had not even known he was looking at him in such a way. “I trust you do not have sporting in mind? Can you not make use of one already in your family’s possession?”</p><p>“I shall find myself needing to travel a jot too much,” Robb says with what Theon believes is intentional mystery.</p><p>“You are planning to continue between Winterfell and London for some time?” Theon infers.</p><p>His lips curl as he looks to Theon for a reaction. “Oxford also.”</p><p>“Truly?” It’s a surprise to hear him considering prolonging his years of education.</p><p>Stark bites his lip, intently inspecting the swelling of his knuckles before he glances back with a sheepish grin. “It is not the city, but the proximity to it is greater than that of home. I am likewise disinclined to submit myself to the tedium of managing the estate just yet.”</p><p>“A sentiment we share,” Theon admits, thoughts dwelling on lips and forming bruise.</p><p>“How does Admiral Greyjoy do?”</p><p>“There is little change in his life and ways,” Theon puts carefully. “He is, as ever, himself.” He can trust Robb to understand. “He means to return to Iron Street shortly.”</p><p>“And your sister?”</p><p>“She is now in London,” he sighs, “with not even a governess or other female chaperon while my father is yet at Pyke, and she speaks to <em>me</em> of impropriety.”</p><p>A toothy grin spreads on his school friend’s face. “She has her brother.”</p><p>“Do not side with her.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t dare.”</p><p>“I trust your family is well?” On seeing Robb nod he thinks back on the night before. “Is Lady Sansa enjoying her stay in London?”</p><p>Sighing heavily, Robb looks to the floor with resignation. “Did you happen to hear she has contracted an engagement with that fool Baratheon?”</p><p>“I did. You have my greatest sympathy.” He does his utmost to convey this in his expression. “I suppose it is an agreeable arrangement to Lord and Lady Stark?”</p><p>“Papa, I fear, was the instigator. You know his affection for Stormlands.”</p><p>“Mmm.” Theon nods. He does indeed. The Duke and Marquess had been as thick as thieves once upon a time and had wished to join their families for the longest of times. “And your sister has an attachment to him, I gather?” He notes the hesitation in Robb before he speaks.</p><p>“I shouldn’t like this to travel further…” Winterfell says quietly, eyes darting side to side.</p><p>This has him intrigued. “Of course. You have my word.”</p><p>“I had thought she desired it very much, but now… well, I have seen her in the company of Aegon Targaryen of late. Nothing good can come from such a closeness, and I am sure our parents would greet such a thought with disapproval.”</p><p>“If she has an agreement with the young Baratheon marquess I shouldn’t think Sansa, of all people, would break that contract, and especially when she is aware that your parents would never approve such a match. You need not worry.”</p><p>A Targaryen had been the downfall of the last Baratheon - Stark tie. The tale told of Lady Lyanna Stark and The Marquess of Dragonstone, Lord Rhaegar Targaryens’ running away depended of with whom you spoke, but it is of Theon’s opinion that no honourable married man, with two children no less, would entice a fifteen year old maiden to abandon her family and steal away, and that is supposing she went willingly, something many refute.</p><p>“No… no… of course not.” Robb flashes a faint smile so unlike him that Theon longs to comfort him. “You’re right. I have no reason to doubt my sister’s sense of duty. Thank you, you have put my mind at ease. You always have.”</p><p>Instinctively, Theon reaches out and sets his hand on Robb’s arm to give it a reassuring touch. He lets it linger for just a moment, feeling the warmth radiating from Robb and the firm muscles hidden beneath the woven grey wool of his tailcoat.</p><p>“You have been sorely missed,” he admits, letting his hand slip slowly away.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Well-Matched Pair</h2></a>
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</div><hr class="hr"/><p>After a more pleasant day than he has had in years, Theon finds himself listening to the Stark heir regale a table of friends in the club with how he happened to be nudged into purchasing an altogether very modish, and also, by correlation, exceedingly expensive, curricle, pinning the blame comically onto him; who, admittedly, did provide some strong encouragement in both selecting the model and it’s customisations. If one if going to spend money on a vehicle made to order, one might as well have it made to perfection with all the trimmings one might desire.</p><p>Theon, sitting back in his chair with legs crossed, raises his brows. “And by whom were you led to asking for my involvement?”</p><p>Mallister lets out a bellowing laugh. “You mean to say it is my doing? Balderdash.”</p><p>“Nay,” Theon chuckles, “<em>you</em> speak nonsense. You knew very well what the outcome would be.”</p><p>“That I did,” he nods then glances over to the rest of the group, a smirk upon his lips. “I look forward to handling the reins one day.”</p><p>“As do I,” Frey agrees, sharing a look with Patrek.</p><p>Putting on a face of faux surprise, Robb cuts in. “And who says you shall be given that liberty?”</p><p>“In any case,” says Theon hastily with something possessive overcoming him, “we shall need to acquire a well matched pair before anyone may be permitted to drive the thing.”</p><p>“<em>‘We’</em>?” Robb inquires, sounding wonderfully convivial and bordering on the flirtatious. When Theon turns his gaze onto his expression, it suggests he is not wrong in this assessment. Robb’s eyes are blue fire, blazing with ardour.</p><p>“I hear Mr Willas Tyrell has two such greys for the market,” says Edmure Tully, taking a pipe with the bowl fashioned into the the likeness of a fish from his lips to speak. Theon assumes this is the trout of the Tully sigil, but he has no interest in fish even if the novelty of such a shape amuses him. “Thoroughbreds, from his own stables.” He looks to his nephew by his sister, Lady Stark. “I expect they come at a hefty cost, but I believe they are worth the comfort of being assured of their fine temperament and reliability.”</p><p>The relatively small age gap between uncle and nephew had long been a source of amusement to those who were there for both the departure of the elder from the college and the younger’s arrival leaving them with only a few years without a boy with the Tully looks. Sensing the similarities stretched further than outward appearances even at Robb’s young age, he’d been an instant favourite within the house and sure enough soon became captain of games. From then onwards he was rarely found outside the senior’s library, having been given the liberty of using it through his new position.</p><p>“Thank you, sir,” Robb smiles, affording his uncle respect despite the somewhat riotous atmosphere, “we shall seek him out.” He glances back to check on Theon’s reaction.</p><p>Greatly tempted to repeat the ‘we’ and so mimic Robb, Theon nods and smirks against his glass of port. Under the table, on gut instinct, he takes the risk of first taking his foot from its shoe then allowing it to slip up along the length of Robb’s firm calf with only stocking between them.</p><p>Robb shifts in his chair but makes no attempt to move away. Infact, his posture opens somewhat as he leans back, coat opening to further show the subtly embroidered blue waistcoat beneath. Theon wouldn’t go as far as to say Robb was particularly fashionable, but he, or someone else, does seem to know what compliments him. A moment later, perhaps cautious of sudden changes in posture, his leg shuffles just a little so as to press firmer against Theon’s foot. Such a small touch, but it goes some way to confirming Stark feels similarly and that floods his mind with thoughts.</p><p>The rest of the evening and into the night is filled with these sly moments of contact, and the joy of seeing Robb’s face and the pink at the tip of his ears, until they are full of laughter climbing clumsily into the first hackney that would be hailed with the coachman pushing the door shut on their goodbyes to friends. Inside, Theon looks to Robb, collapsed on the hind seat with his hair in disarray. He grins, purely from the shared glance and Theon finds himself running the tip of his finger along his lips so as to draw his attention there.</p><p>Robb doesn’t take the bait immediately, although he watches, but when Theon pulls his knee up onto the couch  he crumbles quickly, his hand on Theon’s thigh burns. Theon feels his lips parting at the caress, the drift of fingers over the white silk of his pantaloons setting him alight. Tossing his head back, Robb lets a little huff of a laugh slip from him like he can’t can’t quite believe what he’s doing. He plays shy for a moment longer, shooting Theon looks and smiling between the nips of his lip. Theon, afraid to spook him, keeps the smirk and enquiring expression on his face, and simply waits… bar parting his legs encouragingly.</p><p>It had been Robb to finally approach him the first time also. Some would believe it was somewhat expected to have some fooling around in youth, but the vast majority would be horrified should such things continue, Theon is sure. He’d been lucky, perhaps, to know Patrek who was similarly flexible in his inclinations. Maybe he would have been a little more hesitant now with the Lord Winterfell. Then again, he brings something out in him no one else has.</p><p>Shortly after brief glances towards the windows with curtains pulled to, Robb turns, a knee up on the velvet of the seat. Uncharacteristically, Theon holds his breath, heart pounding in his chest, and it seems Robb has no intention of putting him out of his misery anytime soon. The pad of his thumb follows the path led by Theon’s own finger, though with considerably less tenderness even before he pushes down onto his lip, taunting Theon with the feel and watching with great enthusiasm. Those blue eyes flick back to his and they share a knowing smile. </p><p>“Fuck,” breathes Robb, and that’s all either of them manage. He descends on Theon, bringing together their lips as though he were a man starved if not a ravenous wolf. Whilst Theon can certainly not say by any means that he has lived a life of celibacy, he still has the same hunger for it. For Robb. And the way he possesses him with heart, body and soul.</p><p>Reaching to pull Robb closer, to hold him at the jaw and thread his fingertips though auburn curls, he’s never found himself more disapproving of cravats and collars. The only thing stopping him from divesting them of some articles of clothing, or popping open some buttons at the very least, is that he knows this journey won’t last forever. At some point, far <em>far</em> too soon, the coach will halt and the door will open. Perhaps the windows also give him reason to resist, but if he took to his knees Robb should seem as though he were alone. At least to the unsuspecting passer-by taking a quick glance through the cracks. There’s still the door problem. If he shan’t be able to oblige directly, he means to leave him besotted in rapture. And desperate for a toss.</p><p>Robb groans low at the press of Theon’s palm at his crotch. His lips travel along Theon’s jaw, bestowing kisses upon it, stopping below his ear. The hot breath tickles him softly, something that goes straight to his groin along with the pressure of the thumb against his throat.</p><p>“You are without compare,” he whispers, leaving no time for Theon to reply before he gently traces the contour of the ear below his tongue.</p><p>If Theon were going to make a worthy response it is gone with a whine and a buck of his hips. “Oh lord!”</p><p>Eyes closing by their own will, Theon realises, truly, that for all intents and purposes, that his junior has the upper hand in this matter. Not every matter, of course… it had been really quite easy to lead him into the procuring of the curricle earlier that very same day. They open once more when the cab comes to a standstill with a jarring lurch. </p><p>Immediately making efforts to regain his composure, Robb pulls away when the name of the building in which he is renting apartments is cried over the thrum of the heartbeats in their ears. The corner of his lip turns into a smile and he gives Theon’s knee an affectionate squeeze. “Darling,” he says with ease, “it is with great sorrow I must bid you farewell and instead look forward to tomorrow.” By his demeanor, If one failed to notice his dark eyes and swollen lips one would truly think him sober and dignified. It is easy to see how he rarely came to find himself on the flogging bench.</p><p>The ghost of his young lord lingers alongside him in the carriage for the rest of the all together too lengthy journey to his front door followed by the agonising last leg to his bedroom. He allows his valet to remove his coat only and sends him away to grant him much needed solitude. </p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>This morning, being on horseback as they are, Asha is at long last appropriately dressed in a riding habit of blue and gold frogging in the style of a naval uniform. In fact, she seems to be rather in her element with a riding crop in hand, though he imagines she would rather sit astride. Leaving the house she had proudly displayed the feather now fixed to her top hat, knowing very well that hadn’t exactly been his meaning.</p><p>He himself is feeling somewhat worse for wear. The ill effects of carousing a night away are upon him and have indeed not been fixed by any remedy Wex has concocted nor has the hair of the dog, though that had been by far the most pleasant of all the options. And Asha is in the mood to converse. In short, he could be in a better temper.</p><p>“Do not be under the assumption that I have forgotten the disservice you did me yesterday, dear brother,” she says quite sternly, back straight.</p><p>“Disservice? Indeed, I did no such thing.”</p><p>Asha scoffs in a manner many a gentleperson would be shocked to hear of a lady doing. </p><p>“Truly,” Theon insists, “if it is my leaving you refer to.”</p><p>“Go on.”</p><p>“On finding you with no chaperon any respectable gentleman would excuse himself, and should he be not of than disposition I do believe my sister would be wise enough to beg him leave should she desire him to… and should she not, I am given to think she would not hesitate to tell him she had no fear of talk, giving name to females servants in attendance.”</p><p>“Oh.” She gives him a sidelong look, no doubt suspicious, and she has every reason to be, but it would be ill mannered to air such a doubt and of the pair she has more of a mind to promote peace.</p><p>With this quarrel quashed, Theon gives himself a mental pat on the back. “So what was it?”</p><p>“What was what?”</p><p>“What became of the visit?” he asks, failing to keep the growing smirk from his lips at seeing her face screw up. Such an expression can only mean she allowed him to stay in her company.</p><p>“Oh, you rotten --!” </p><p>The tip of the riding crop pokes at his side, but through the layers of clothing he feels barely a thing. Their laughter distracts them both from their surroundings until Asha, blood draining from her face, abruptly utters, “oh, heavens above, no.”</p><p>When Theon follows her line of sight he finds an odd looking chap in a blue coat not unlike that he had once worn himself.</p><p>“Miss Greyjoy!” he cries. “Oh! So, it is. How do you do ma’am?”</p><p>Immediately, her back straightens back out. She looks down on him over the point of her hook nose. It is not a stare Theon would should like to find himself on the receiving end of, and judging by the way this stranger seems unperturbed by such a greeting he is inclined to believe he must have purchased his naval officers commission as it seems unlikely such a dim man would win it on his own merit.</p><p>“Mr Greyjoy,” she addresses him stiffly, which has Theon intrigued, “please allow me to introduce my brother, Theon. Brother, this is our cousin, Mr Quenton Greyjoy.”</p><p>“Lord Greyjoy!” the man exclaims, dipping into a bow. “Ah, of course.” The relief is written all over the daft goose’s round face. To think one might mistake their relationship is absurd and especially so when this man must have some knowledge of them both, even if Theon has no clue as to where he has crawled from.</p><p>Theon does little more than incline his head. Under him, his horse Smiler shifts restlessly. Learning of his name poses a new question. <em>Surely any Greyjoy of a Captain’s rank would be known to him? </em>He shares an uneasy look with his sister. Coming from a rather eccentric family, neither of them are well versed in civility. </p><p>“You will have noticed something different about me, I imagine?” Mr Greyjoy breaks the silence, waving a hand up and down his apparel. “It was mighty good of Admiral Greyjoy to make recommendations on my behalf.”</p><p>“Quite,” is all Asha manages.</p><p>This is nepotism to the highest degree. At least their brothers, Rodrik and Maron both, who were not the sharpest tools in the box it has to be said, had been apprenticed from a young age and knew the ins and outs of the Navy. This blockhead would likely have not made it to the rank of lieutenant had he not had an influential patron.</p><p>“Please do reiterate my gratitude to your father.”</p><p>“It will certainly be brought to his attention, I assure you.”</p><p>Theon has always marvelled at his sister’s willingness to articulate her grievances to Balon. Though, admittedly, his would be met with considerably less patience. He sees now, her unease at this development and her caution from when she first arrived. It would not be unlike their patriarch to promote an obscure cousin meaning to marry his only daughter off to him so as to cast off his ill favoured younger child.</p><p>“Miss Greyjoy, may I be so bold as to ask --”</p><p>“Say!” Asha interrupts him mercilessly. “Is that Lord Stark and his sister?”</p><p>“I do believe it is,” Theon tries his damndest not to laugh, “and the lovely Miss Poole also.”</p><p>“My apologies, Mr Greyjoy! We must greet old friends, you know.” She sounds just like an insufferably pompous matron in that moment.</p><p>“Yes, no doubt you better --” Quenton begins, looking bewildered as they pass by him.</p><p>“You see!” Asha exclaims in a hushed voice once she believes them out of earshot. “This is your doing. To think, he would marry me to that peabrain.”</p><p>“My doing? You have your own free will.”</p><p>“I will not be engaging in the same tired argument with you, brother. What would you have me do?”</p><p>“Why, I would call his bluff.”</p><p>She tuts at him. “Of course you would…”</p><p>“In any case, it is only me who might bear the worst of consequences. Marry a gudgeon such as him and do what you wish. All you need do is produce him an heir, and perhaps a spare, granted, and then you may be free of him. You have it in your luck that Greyjoys are exceedingly good at turning out boys. I daresay he shan’t even blink twice when they show a striking resemblance to that groom you keep or the dear Mr Botley.”</p><p>“And what of you? Are you to hang from the sleeve of some wealthy dowager?”</p><p>This has him grin. It would be a marvelous idea if he hadn’t set his sights elsewhere. “Perhaps I shall do just that,” he says shortly before he throws his leg round and dismounts with grace to make the final approach towards Robb and his small party.</p><p>Sansa gathers the small English Cocker Spaniel that had been walking sensibly at her feet into her arms, wary of the proximity of the horses. Ordinarily, one would afford gun dogs little caution around a mount, but the Starks treat even working dogs as though they were pets, and this grey pup, ‘Lady’, has only known the life of a lap dog. One might believe it to be a toy breed at first glance if one didn’t know better.</p><p>“If you allow him to influence your spending, brother, you shall be bankrupt,” Sansa laughs moments later, watching Jeyne giving the Arabian Black’s neck a good stroke with admiration. </p><p>“Not to worry, I shouldn’t want him to have a finer horse than my own,” Theon reassures her, “nor do I believe that possible.”</p><p>“Mr Tyrell is also a reasonable fellow,” she says approvingly, the dog slumped against the Jonquil yellow spencer worn over her walking dress. It is not sunny enough for parasols, but both girls wear straw bonnets he imagines they have added their own custom touches to. “I am certain he will not charge over the odds.”</p><p>Beside her, Robb catches Theon’s eye. Miss Stark has had a great deal of proposed suitors in her young age, and her brothers have been quite opposed to such an age difference. Though now, with her on the cusp of becoming affianced with Joffrey Baratheon, he wonders if Robb has had a change of heart.</p><p>“They come with our uncle’s approval,” Robb tells her, “Theon has had very little hand in it… thus far. I am, however, keen for his opinion.”</p><p>Chuckling, she looks between them. “To be sure, you are keen for his opinion on all matters. However did you get on without it. I don’t suppose you found Mr Frey as obliging when it comes to indulging in whims.”</p><p>Theon knows his face must drop despite his determination not to let his feelings known. “You were joined by Olyvar Frey?”</p><p>Head tilting slightly, Robb inclines his head. “Surely you knew? His father wishes to foster a good connection between our families. I’m sure it vexes him that he has not yet engineered a match.”</p><p>“Sir Walter Frey has a great number of offspring,” laughs Asha, passing the reins of her horse to the groom now caught up. “I would be surprised should you not find one of the daughters or granddaughter to your liking.” She adds with her own sort of honesty: “you do not want for wealth, so that cannot be a deterrent. And your family is already in good standing. Any genteel lady might do, provided you find her amiable.”</p><p>While Theon looks at his sister with scorn at both the hypocrisy, even if it is in jest, and, well, his distaste at the idea that Robb might form an attachment - she needn’t know he increasingly thinks this unlikely to be towards one of the daughters as opposed to a son - he notes Miss Poole’s reaction to glance over to Robb for his own.</p><p>“I have not given much thought to the matter.”</p><p>“No… I don’t suppose you have. You are like my brother and much of your sex in that sense I suspect.”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Highgarden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the chapter containing smut. I think I'm safe in keeping the rating at mature, but it is possible to just skip to the end of the chapter from there if you wish.</p><p>Mild warning for dislike of the Tyrells by Theon in this chapter - they are keeping poor company though so I think he can be forgiven.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div><hr class="hr"/><p>Even while inspecting the fine horses on offer from Tyrell’s stables out at the family’s estate, Theon is unable to get away from the idea of Robb and any one of the Freys. Oblivious to his thoughts, Robb speaks with Willas, letting himself be educated further on a great variety of equestrian matters Theon would likely find a little patronising if he cared to listen, but his junior smiles politely and nods in all the appropriate moments. </p><p>“Would you like to drive them yourself and see how you handle them? I assume from your uncle’s note that you will not be hiring a driver?”</p><p>“If that will not put you out, sir.”</p><p>“Not at all, it is a wish of mine that I only entrust the ownership of my horses to those who work well with them.”</p><p>Theon suppresses an eye roll. If he were Robb he would have none of this, and knowing Robb, he is likely feeling stubborn beneath it all. If Tyrell were brave enough to push it further he might discover that for himself, he certainly would if were to deny the sale, but Theon assumes this is more an opportunity for the purchaser to decide for themselves.</p><p>They are forced, then, to enter the hall of Highgarden itself while the carriage is prepared or so show themselves in an ill light if they were to decline hospitality. The Tyrells may not have a title but one wouldn’t know it on looking around the place. It’s lavish enough to rival the best of the great houses even if there is not the wealth of ancient tapestries and aging portraits such as those found at Castle Winterfell. Pyke, which certainly displays costly architecture and furniture, is bare in comparison. The aristocracy have been known on occasion to refer to this particular family of landed gentry as upstarts, but the company he and Robb find there is telling of how there is a tendency to claw for their money all the same, because Theon does not doubt that is why there are multiple Baratheons in attendance. </p><p>Miss Margaery Tyrell, who is sure to have a handsome dowry, and the Honourable Renly Baratheon stand on their arrival and bestow a pretty curtsy and bow respectively, while the chit’s brother, Loras, turns from the window to greet them both, but it isn’t only Renly present. His nephew, sitting in a chair, merely looks up from examining his nails. </p><p>“Lord Winterfell,” Margaery smiles once they are settled in seats and they have been brought tea and a multitude of different sweetmeats, “how is your delightful sister?”</p><p>Beneath Robb’s boyish smile, which could stop hearts if directed at many, Theon can sense his unease at the situation. Maybe it's simply that he knows him well enough to imagine how he might be feeling, but Theon would swear it’s visible in his eyes and a stiffness of his otherwise open body language. Not caring for pleasantries and without an idea for how he might bring comfort in such company, Theon eyes the rest of the room rather than join them in their conversation. </p><p>For someone on the verge of marriage with the topic of interest, Joffrey Baratheon, the newly styled Marquess of Stormsend following his coming of age, looks decidedly disinterested in the conversation, preferring instead to watch on with a smirk. This, Theon knows, will have Robb riled up and as much as he would rather like to watch Robb smack the smile from the insufferable git’s face, it would not be prudent to let him do so.</p><p>“We had not thought to find you here,” says Theon, sitting back in a languid manner. His eyes make it clear he addresses Renly, appealing for something of an intervention and redirecting the younger’s stare from Winterfell to him.</p><p>“I wished to garner Tyrell’s opinion on a matter.” He means Loras, of course. They were never pals in their school days despite their close age, in part due to their being in differing houses, but when one has experience of their own, it is a hard push not to have noticed their intimate relationship.</p><p>Theon is incapable of not passing a comment. “Naturally.”</p><p>Renly’s brows raise a touch as he continues, refusing to be interrupted, despite how such a simple word catches Tyrell's attention. “And my nephew had not yet visited Highgarden.”</p><p>“I suppose it must be rather common to have a hankering to call here,” says Theon casually, sounding amused. His gaze drifts purposefully over to Miss Tyrell to ensure he is not misunderstood.</p><p>“And why, might I ask, are you here, Greyjoy?” Joffrey asks, voice full of derision.</p><p>Making a show of neatening his collar, Theon takes his time answering, aware that the Stormsend is becoming impatient. “Mr Willas Tyrell’s thoroughbreds come highly recommended.”</p><p>“That explains Stark’s presence. I had thought him wise enough to have moved on to better company. He may have some standing in society, but he is not immune to the association with scandal.”</p><p>“Glass houses, my lord,” Theon cautions him.</p><p>“It was always a mystery to me why you maintained a friendship,” the marquess drawls. Behind him, his uncle bites back a smile, it displeases Theon more than he could say. “But I suppose it must have always had some benefit to you, even before you needed his money to spend.”</p><p>“You are mistaken.”</p><p>“Is that so? It’s a coincidence then that we should find you together once more now you have racked up a tremendous debt?”</p><p>“You have been misinformed, my lord,” Theon tells him coldy.</p><p>In the corner of his eye, Loras wets his lip and exchanges an anxious look with his sister. Perhaps they have had a hand in this.</p><p>“Lord Stormsend,” Miss Tyrell tries is a melodic voice, “would you care for a ratafia cake?” She is either exceedingly dim or exercised in navigating tense social circles. Whichever it is, it has limited positive effect.</p><p>“Nay, I do not believe I have.”</p><p>Having hoped his friend was being kept occupied, Theon is disappointed to hear Robb join them in this nonsense. “Theon…?”</p><p>“I am rather well informed, in fact,” Joffrey tells him. Theon does not like this voice. It sounds very much like him to at least believe he has someone like Bolton in his pocket. “Really, Greyjoy, you are a fool.”</p><p>Sensing movement to his side, Theon throws out an arm and places his hand just by Robb’s thigh, discouraging him from making any rash decisions.</p><p>Joffrey sniffs. “Getting into bed with the Bolton bastard, of all people.”</p><p>“Pardon?” Robb quizzes, almost at breaking point. In the background, Margaery has taken to the pianoforte, which would be comical if he were not in a foul mood.</p><p>Theon could throttle the swine himself. He would have told Robb his predicament eventually... should he have had to. Though Joffrey may be correct in his accusations in regard to having lost a not insignificant amount of money, he had no intention of asking nor even allowing Winterfell to come to his aid. </p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>The silence as Robb drives the phaeton down the Tyrell’s exceedingly long drive is unnerving. Theon finds himself looking out as sycamore after sycamore passes them by on the avenue, avoiding looking at his companion and his harsh scowl. He could comment that the horses may well pick up on his foul temper and misbehave, but somehow he suspects Winterfell will not take well to altering his manner on behalf of a horse.</p><p>This is largely unfamiliar territory to Theon on multiple accounts. Firstly, it is unlike someone to be vexed with him, as he believes Robb to be, and to simply stew in it for as long as he is doing. Infact, should this have been someone else he imagines that whatever were to follow would become progressively more of a scolding in correlation to the time he waits for it to be unleashed. The strange thing about this is that Robb seems to be trying to stifle his anger. Although his gloved hands grip the leather reins far tighter than is appropriate, and Theon could swear he’s grinding his teeth, he takes deep breaths, trying to steady himself. Secondly, Theon cares. He cares in some respects when many people are frustrated with him but it is a primarily self interested kind of caring with no thought to the relationship he holds with the other party. Generally speaking, he does not trouble himself with what others think of him. This time things are different.</p><p>And so, he finds himself at a loss for what to do. It’s mighty tempting to bolt from the carriage. Stark is not driving especially fast, it's a possibility. He’s convinced he would survive the effort. And if he were to be injured, well, it might break the tension. Then there’s pleading his case. Truth is, through, there is no case. Not really. No one tricked him into the initial spending. He did become especially unlucky with his choice in moneylender, however, which has left him in something of a pickle. Pickle being an understatement. Begging for forgiveness though… that’s a thought, even if that doesn’t make sense strictly speaking. Rationally, this has nothing to do with the young Earl. This thought in itself has him ponder once more on why then he is in such a foul mood, but his imagination is already focussed on throwing himself to Robb’s mercy. Pity there seems to be limited room at his feet for such a display. Pity there’s no good reason for it.</p><p>Gaze having slipped to Robb’s feet, his eyes catch on the tan stripe at the top of the riding boots he’s wearing, pulling his interest higher and subsequently to his lap where the fabric of his breeches simultaneously leave little and too much to that imagination he’s already primed.</p><p>“Are you going to explain yourself?” Robb asks eventually.</p><p>“I rather think there is little to explain,” says Theon, shrugging a singular shoulder.</p><p>Winterfell grits his teeth as he stares ahead for a few moments more, chest taking deep breaths as he turns onto the outer parameter track, taking them through the woodland. “How much?”</p><p>“It is none of your concern,” Theon tells him stubbornly, knowing exactly where this is going.</p><p>“Tell me,” he insists in a commanding voice.</p><p>It sickens him to think of speaking it aloud, as though that is what makes it real and not the threat of taking a beating from Bolton’s lackies, or even worse, them going to his father.</p><p>Ahead, two deer scarper from their path. Theon should like to be one of them. “£2000,” he says, forcing himself to sound as casual about it, as though it were a mere pittance. </p><p>“Good god,” Robb murmurs under his breath. “And the interest?”</p><p>Theon grimaces. “Fifteen.”</p><p>“Upon my word, Theon! What were you thinking?”</p><p>“I…” He wasn’t thinking, that’s the truth of it. “I intended to make it back. Or to make it in some other way. Or journey to Pyke if I must. I am certain I could come to find it.”</p><p>Robb scowls. “You detest returning home.”</p><p>He’s right, of course, he knows this after his friend joined him home during many school holidays. Theon has dreaded even to consider it, but he has waited long enough for the reasons - made up primarily of his family members - to separate from one another. If he appeals to his father now, in London, he may easily flee after, and if he is unsuccessful there is one fewer person to encounter at home. The downside of this plan is that the castle is sparse in terms of items he might be able to appropriate, and being discovered would be unfortunate to say the least.</p><p>“Needs must.”</p><p>“No,” says Robb sternly, the line of his forehead growing.</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“No, there is no need, not now.”</p><p>“Robb--”</p><p>“Why did you say nothing? You know I would--”</p><p>“Indeed, and that is why I refrained from speaking of it. This does not concern you.”</p><p>“Of course it <em>concerns</em> <em>me, </em>Theon. <em>You</em> concern me with your inability to care for yourself,” he says in earnest, meeting his eyes. The distress Theon finds there threatens to crumble his defenses. “There is no need for you to beseech <em>them </em>to come to your aid,” he reiterates. “I should not wish to only transfer the debt you owe to another I do not trust with your wellbeing. I shall call upon the bank on our return. You may come along or provide me with the address of this veritable villain.”</p><p>Theon shakes his head. “I shan’t do either.”</p><p>“I very much disagree.”</p><p>“I will not let you pay my debts. Don't be absurd.”</p><p>“If you will not assist me I will be forced to make my own enquiries and I cannot guarantee how quietly I will be able to do so. In any case, I shall be putting an end to this. You may consider your loan transferred if you must… I should hope you will find the interest rate favourable.”</p><p>Theon’s heart falters at seeing the small curl of Robb’s lip. “What had you in mind?”</p><p>“Only the regularity of your company. I am rather fond of it. And I imagine it might have become quite slim had you failed to make repayments…” He sighs heavily. “I am saddened that you did not come to me.”</p><p>“You have been traipsing across Europe with Frey,” he says bitterly.</p><p>Theon should have let it be for his mate’s expression hardened. “It has been weeks since my return--”</p><p>“I did not know you had returned and even if I had--”</p><p>“And days since we met.”</p><p>“It is hardly appropriate to ask an acquaintance for money the moment after happening across them!”</p><p>“Acq--” Robb clenches his jaw. Theon had regretted the word the moment it passed his lips. “You truly believe it was a happenstance? I appealed to Mallister as I feared you shouldn’t wish to see me.”</p><p>Silence descends once more, with Winterfell chewing on his lip. </p><p>“Last night,” his cheeks have quickly become rather pink, “I, well…” Nerves frayed, his thumbs smooth over the leather reins. “I was in my cups and... christ.” He reaches up and removes his hat.</p><p>“Do you regret it?”</p><p>“Yes.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. I… I regret how I went about it.”</p><p>“How you went about it?” Theon smirks, angling his body towards Robb and leaning in close. He feels Stark’s strong thigh under his hand, stroking over the buckskin he would rather they be free of. “Like so?”</p><p>“I mean to say that I shouldn’t have presumed your interest. We were foxed and--”</p><p>“Dearest,” Theon drawls. His opposite hand reaches to Robb’s curls, loosening them from where they have been flattened by the hat. He doesn’t comment further, only means to imply this is a ridiculous suggestion. To his relief, Robb’s posture relaxes - well, as much as the tailoring of his coat will allow - but his voice remains strained. That is his clue to what he is attempting to address.</p><p>“When you… When I--”</p><p>When Theon had broken it to his intimate that he would be joining the navy on the wishes of his family a rift had formed between them until Robb expressed in anger that he thought perhaps it might be the best that they part after all, that they each had duties to consider.</p><p>“Let us leave it in the past.”</p><p>Robb’s hand catches his, halting its endeavors. It’s strange to think how comforted the simple squeeze of his hand by someone he hasn’t seen in so long makes him feel. “There have been so many days I wished for you beside me. I was foolish, to have reacted so horrendously, please forgive me. I feared for you and I failed to appreciate we cannot only take as much as we can when and where we can. I’d be very much obliged if you could find it in your heart to forgive me.”</p><p>“Hmmm, I think perhaps amends may need to be made.”</p><p>A grin forms face at seeing Robb bring the horses to a stop where the track nears a deer house that from a distance one might think they had paused to admire the view and the white hind amongst the small group gathered there. With the reins tucked around the metal holder on the rail, Robb groans at the press of Theon’s lip against his jaw. His hand leaves Theon’s to work its way under his thigh and manoeuvre him to straddle his lap. There’s not quite enough room on the short seat of the phaeton and so Robb is forced to inch himself until both of Theon’s knees have space beside them.</p><p>He might chuckle at the awkward movements, but the feel of the hands supporting his back and grasping at his arse have his desperation building. By the time he has the purchase, he’s grinding down purposefully and having Robb bite his lip in futile attempt to hold back the noises it draws. </p><p>“Come away with me,’ Robb whispers hot against his ear, pulling his hand round and up to thread fingers through his hair, and strokes the pad of the thumb along Theon’s neck and jaw. “To Brighton.”</p><p>“For the sea air?” jokes Theon, eyes closing.</p><p>“I hear it's rather fashionable to take the salt water.” Robb smiles. “Speaking of fashion,” he says teasingly as his fingers tug on the end of the ribbon tying back his hair, unravelling the bow. “You have yet to clip your hair short.”</p><p>“Ah, yes. I fear it is hindering my reputation as a dandy, but a sweetheart of mine was ever so fond--”</p><p>Robb pulls him in close, kissing him passionately while his free hand races to the front of Theon’s pantaloons. His fingers continue at the buttons there while he pulls the glove of the other hand with his teeth, and Theon can’t help but wonder at when he last popped another’s, even if he has no right to, until the last finally springs free and the fold falls clear for Robb to take his chance, delving straight in with bare fingers and palm. Even the sensation of Robb cupping his cock over the fabric of the shirt he wears has him whining around Robb’s tongue.</p><p>They should show more discretion. Though they are now some distance from the house itself and the main drive, it is not impossible for someone to come across them, if unlikely. But he feels safe and secure in Robb’s hands. Just as the horses’ blinkers keep them focused on the destination, from being overcome by the outside world, so too does his touch prevent Theon’s thoughts wandering away from the present. Only the need to consume one another exists now.</p><p>“Oh, how I have thought about you. You fill my head with the most rippingly sinful designs.” </p><p>It’s really quite something how sure of himself the young Earl has become. He does have his moments of becoming bashful, but any sense of that has gone now. He exudes a confidence that has Theon feeling heady. </p><p>Theon fights Robb’s own buttons, mercifully aided by the looser garment he wears but hindered but the way he strokes Theon’s cock in controlled fluid movements. Heart pounding in his chest, Theon meets Robb’s lips to bestow another harsh open-mouthed kiss and keens at the tug of teeth on his bottom lip before he’s slipping away to take to his knees just as he had dreamed he might. </p><p>When he looks up to gauge Robb’s reaction, he finds him wide eyed, pupils blown, with ardorous countenance. The hopeful twitch of Robb’s cock concurs with the assessment that this line of thinking is pleasing.</p><p>Starting slow, Theon kisses the length. From the corner of his eye he catches Robb’s hand clenching into a fist, while above him, he hears the sound of breath catching at the first lap of his tongue. It takes little time for Robb to do as Theon wishes and hold him, or move towards doing so at least. When he takes him into his mouth, Robb’s entire body jerks and Theon has his own spark at the rush that comes at pleasuring him so. Rather embarrassingly, he moans with little control over himself. </p><p>“Theon,” whispers Robb. His voice is gentle, his touch is gentle as he sweeps back the lock of hair from his face, but that's where it ends. His hand stops at the back of Theon’s head, fingers laced through his hair, and pushes himself forwards on the seat and his cock further into his mouth. </p><p>Theon splutters before he whines at the heavy weight against his tongue, fingertips burying themselves in the meat of Robb’s thigh. He is not well practiced at this and Robb is not the smallest of men, far from it.</p><p>“Damn,” breathes Robb, half moan itself, and has him smirk. There’s a joy in having expletives leave the ordinarily well mannered mouth. “I intend to fuck you well in that sea air.”</p><p>He hollows his cheeks in response and is rewarded with the tight grip of his hair that makes his entire body ache with need. Desperate, he takes himself in hand and soon abandons doing little else besides making pitiful noises until he spills over his fingers and the floor of the Tyrell’s phaeton at Robb’s feet. Robb follows not long after, thrusting his hips up and spending himself in Theon’s mouth.</p><p>Afterwards, with his cheek against Robb’s thigh, Theon takes deep breaths, allowing his racing heart to slow, and smiles at the way the fingers in his hair turn to soft touches, playing with it as the Stark heir calms. </p><p>“How are we to show ourselves now?” Robb laughs, tugging under Theon’s arm to encourage him back and into a lazy and lingering kiss once he has resorted to wiping his hand on the part of his shirt tucked in.</p><p>“I refuse to set foot back into that house.”</p><p>“I think that to be wise, lest my fist meet that odious princock’s chin.”</p><p>That has him guffaw. “I had half desired it might,” he admits. </p><p>How the devil will the pair of them cope in each other's company in the event that they do indeed become in laws?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading. Comments are very much appreciated, and you can find me on tumblr as <a href="https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/">salty-wench</a> should you like to.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Covenants</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Final chapter! This has been good fun to write - thank you for reading! I'm going to add this to a Regency AU series incase anyone would like to subscribe. </p><p>This chapter contains a letter in cursive. If you struggle with it turn creator style off at the top next to comments. <a href="#letter">You can click here to jump back to the letter afterwards.</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div><hr class="hr"/><p>Would that they could stay in this apartment with pleasant sea views from the window for the rest of their days. Not content with only rendering the contours of Robb’s nude body to memory, he lounges on an armchair, foot pulled up on the seat to make use of his knees as a support for the board on which he sketches. If anyone were to ask of it, Theon would answer that it is the sleeping Apollo; sequestered in his dreams and untroubled by the reality of the world around him.</p><p>A knock upon the reception room’s door has Theon setting aside the drawing and hastily pulling the cotton banyan he wears closed to cover himself up. He considers rousing Robb, but Wex’s voice outside is calm and the door soon closes. Curious, he leaves the bedroom to discover the purpose of this short visit.</p><p>Wex turns to him from the door holding a letter. “For Lord Winterfell, my lord,” the valet tells him with more formality than Theon requests. At least he is content to hand the thing directly to him.</p><p>Theon nods his thanks. The handwriting is familiar yet not immediately known to him and the seal, detailed with a strawberry, leads him no closer to identifying the sender. Whoever it may be from, he is convinced the contents are not written by a Stark, and he therefore chooses once more to leave Robb to his rest and takes his pastime back up.</p><p>He’s just about finished when the screeching of a seagull makes Robb stir and turn from the pose he has helpfully been content in for the past half hour or so, but it’s worth it for the sleepy grin Robb bestows on him when he sets eyes on him, entire face brightening with a flash of teeth.</p><p>“What are you occupied with?” he asks. Having just rubbed his eyes of sleep, his gaze slips from Theon’s face, running over the strip of his body exposed from the robe’s opening.</p><p>Purposefully wetting his lip and pulling it between his teeth, Theon smirks. The hunger he sees in Robb and his body sends a rush through him. He could join him in bed, perhaps to ride St. George, but it can be rather good fun to tease him until he is driven to prig him right here in the chair.</p><p>“Taking your likeness so that it may keep me company when we are apart,” Theon tells him in dulcet tones. Robb, already swelling, leaves the bed to come with such purpose that Theon burns at the sight. “Yes, come closer so that I might study you further, there are some lines that I wish to explore.”</p><p>With a sparkle of humour in his eyes and a lopsided smile, Robb does as he bids. Taking the board from his hands, he then looms over Theon, a hand on the back of the armchair.</p><p>“Here it is,” says Theon with a smile, taking pleasure in his private joke and his sweeping thumb laden with charcoal over the furrow at the base of Robb abdomen to leave behind a smudged line there until it comes to a stop at the groin, “Apollo’s belt.”</p><p>Robb pushes back the banyan further on either side until only Theon’s arms are concealed from full view and trails his fingertips slowly down over his chest and stomach right the way to his cock.</p><p>Theon shivers with expectation. “The curtains,” he breathes, referring to the crack in them allowing him some light in which to work. They have been careful thus far to not be seen together through the windows, in line with the charade of keeping separate bedrooms where in reality Wex has had the good fortune of habitating the second, which is almost as grand, in return for his silence. He regrets the caution when Robb lingers at the window, face hardening.</p><p>“Robb?”</p><p>The lack of an answer concerns Theon enough for him to join Robb at the window, peeking around the edge of the curtains. Immediately in view, across the square, is a carriage bearing the shield of crimson and gold with both stag and lion rampant. It can only be occupied by Lord Stormsend. As they watch on, the carriage is vacated by the Marquess, and after him, taking his hand, a lady in a hat draped with white lace.</p><p>“I shall see him at dawn,” growls Robb, already turning to seek his clothes.</p><p>“By jupiter! Wait a moment. Calm yourself!” Theon begs, attempting to pull him back before Robb shrugs him off. “Oh, for god's sake.” He then reaches for his own shirt, shouting, “Wex!”</p><p>Hastily dressed with help, Theon chases down the stairs and across the small garden in the centre of the square after Robb who has resorted to dressing in only a shirt, breeches and boots, with not even stockings, nevermind waistcoat, neckerchief, or coat.</p><p>When the bewildered footman opens the door to the newlyweds retreat, Robb forcibly pushes himself past. By the time Theon makes it, the poor soul must correctly judge the concern he shows as he hastily steps aside to admit him gladly, but he is still too slow to prevent Robb from taking out his fury. A woman’s shriek echos through the house.</p><p>Theon finds the hot headed Earl in the drawing room off the entrance hall, standing in front of Joffrey, stooped over and clutching his nose from which blood drips onto the ornate rug at his feet, along with a woman up against the wall to keep herself from the chaos, chest rising and falling from exhaustion brought about by the shock.</p><p>His eyes are then pulled to the bride's dress of sage green organza and then the hint of brown hair through the lace. “Robb,” Theon takes his arm before he throws another punch and says so as to alert him that this is not his sister, “you scare the Lady Margaery.” He is uncertain whether Robb would view an unannounced yet agreed marriage without himself present or the insult of his sister being jilted as being more disagreeable.</p><p>“You wretched --,” Stormsend hisses. “Too little of a man to challenge me are you?”</p><p>Robb’s lips part, on the verge of issuing one. Thank the lord, the Marchioness is wise enough to now appeal for her husband’s small amount of sensibility, throwing herself forwards towards him and her extravagant dress into jeopardy. “Heaven forbid! You mustn't; it is illegal! And our honeymoon no less.”</p><p>Taking the opportunity of the pause, Theon hastens to encourage a flushed-face Robb from the room, but the Baratheon fool can not leave it be.</p><p>“Yes, leave, and take that contemptible libertine with whom you see fit to cavort with,” spits Joffrey at Robb, and for it he takes a strike to the belly. This time he doubles over and drops to the floor, but even his new wife appears to think this earnt, merely standing by.</p><p>“Insult any one of my loved ones once more and I shall see you put in the ground!” Robb shouts back as he is dragged out into the hallway, still furious.</p><p>Turning back in the doorway before he forces him from the house, Theon bestows a bow, keeping a straight face. “My congratulations, madam.” It is an admirable achievement to have jumped from commoner to future duchess, but the sacrifice is no small one. He should thank her for saving Sansa from such a life.</p><p>Once back safely in their rooms, despite still having mixed feelings about the display and Robb’s inability to allow him to stand up for himself, Theon pours Robb a glass of brandy, willing him to calm, and sets eyes on the letter. An unpleasant feeling washes over him, heavy in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>“Robb,” he says quietly, worried that he should have woken him after all, and holds out the correspondence, hoping to high heaven it is nothing.</p><p>Frowning, and with confusion written on his features, Robb takes it from him and explains, “it is from Jeyne.” Forgoing a paper knife, he breaks the seal while over his shoulder and Theon begins to read, praying for it to be only news of the split.</p><p>
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  <p>My dear Lord Winterfell,</p>
  <p>I dearly hope this letter finds you in haste. I may never be forgiven should the contents ever be viewed by your dear sister, and yet, after careful deliberation, I feel I must appeal to you to take action before she suffers ruination.</p>
  <p>My Lord, I have to tell you, this morning saw the marriage of the Marquess of Stormsend to Miss Margaery Tyrell, effectively breaking the agreement made between the Marquess and our dearest. This distresses me to write, but you will see that this is not the worst of it.</p>
  <p>You may have some sense of an attachment between Lady Sansa and the young Duke of Dragonstone. Regretfully, I am writing to express my concern that, the Lady’s contract having been broken by her former intended, the two now plan to marry in secret with neither the consent of your father nor the approval of the Duke’s godfather, Lord Connington. </p>
  <p>At present, we remain in London. I did imagine we would now be overstaying our welcome, but we have since had the company of more than a few of the Duchess’ relations and, quite worryingly, Sir Petyr Baelish; I should think you will come to the same conclusion as we each have. However, I believe I am not wrong in supposing the pair will soon elope to Gretna Green. </p>
  <p>Sir, I implore you to return and end this before the situation and their reputations are irreparably damaged.</p>
  <p>Affectionately yours,</p>
  <p>Jeyne</p>
</div><hr class="hide"/><p>Robb shouts for Wex the moment he is finished reading, immediately requesting a horse to be prepared for him.</p><p>“I will come with you,” says Theon.</p><p>“No,” Robb’s voice is sharp, “there is little reason for us both to make such a trip.”</p><p>Wex hovers by the door, waiting for an outcome. Placed between his employer and someone of higher rank with such a dark expression.</p><p>Biting his tongue, Theon turns from him. It would be quicker for him, he is the greater horseman, but this is not the moment to make that case and Cersei might send him away anyway. He has no formal connection to Sansa and might even create further scandal. “Take Smiler for the first leg. I shall collect him when I follow on.”</p><p>There is a pause before Robb speaks. <em>He wishes to refuse</em>, thinks Theon, <em>but it would be a foolish thing to do.</em></p><p>“My thanks.” A curt nod to Wex sends him from the room and down the stairs at speed.</p><p>“I shall see your belongings returned to you,” offers Theon.</p><p>“I would be grateful if you should have them sent on to Winterfell,” says Robb, removing any possibility of a reunion any time soon.</p><p>Theon whips back to watch as Robb prepares to leave, removing his breeches to replace them with ones more suitable for the fifty mile trip on horseback and sitting to finally pull on a pair of stockings. After a moment’s silence, he drops down by his feet to assist. Dressing Robb as opposed to undressing is a new experience to him. It feels like a goodbye and so he takes what time he feels he can afford bringing them up over his calves and knees with lingering touches and dutifully buttons at the knees of the new riding breeches, but he daren’t look up.</p><p>When he gets to his feet he first pulls and fastens the ties at the small of Robb’s back, coming in closer than any valet might. He longs to lean further, to kiss the line of his lover’s neck. For fear of Winterfell pulling from him entirely, he only inhales the smell of him, feels the heat radiating from him and curls against his skin.</p><p>He meets Robb’s eyes with his fingers working the buttons at his wrist. While once they were the heavens, today they are indeed pools threatening to overspill.</p><p>“I can’t say when I shall next see you,” Robb says, looking to the window to avoid his eyes. “I wonder,” he gulps, “I wonder if it is wise that we continue to… to be intimate.”</p><p>Theon’s fingers still. “What are you saying?”</p><p>“You know very well what I am saying. You have blinded me.”</p><p>Brows furrowing with anger, Theon argues, “this is not my fault!”</p><p>“You withheld that letter from me --”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Theon says, laying on sarcasm, “I am sure the hour or so will make all the difference.”</p><p>Robb hesitates. He wasn’t to know when the letter had arrived. “You should have woken me, but instead you seduced--” Theon can’t help it, he smirks at the accusation. “And now you are laughing at me!”</p><p>“You say it as though it is something sinister and I hardly think you needed encouragement.” He eyes the flush on Robb’s neck. “You are looking to blame me. What is it? Do you hope to paint me as the serpent? I did so very little, you were remarkably easy to tempt.”</p><p>Another might have struck him, raised their voice, made the following separation easier in some way or another, but Robb only stills and stares at him until they are disturbed by the opening of the door by Wex having returned from the stables. </p><p>Clearing his throat, Theon steps away to allow the valet to assist Robb, and then strides out of the room, taking the brandy with him.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Theon finds London in the midst of a downpour and himself in a foul mood. Dripping water onto the marble floor of the entrance hall he stands stationary, cautious. If he had the means to afford it he would have gone elsewhere. The increase in servant presence when he steps through the door hints to his father’s also, but this alone cannot account for the tense atmosphere. All of them avoid looking at him directly, until a welcome sight bearing scraggy white sideburns appears at the first landing of the stairs.</p><p>Dagmer, his father’s steward, inclines his head towards the second flight. “You had best come straight up.”</p><p>Theon’s chest tightens. He expects to be directed to his father’s study, a place he avoids at all costs. Being in that room largely equates to bad news or chastisement. His mind jumps between fears for his Mama’s health and those for his own. If Balon should have caught wind of how he has spent the past week and the way he has conducted himself he is in for more than a reprimand. Should he take a beating he can at least take comfort in the weather-worn faced steward being there to pick up the pieces, but him being here suggests there is something more serious afoot.</p><p>At the top of the stairs, he is walked to the door of the grand bedroom in silence where Dagmer claps a hand on his shoulder. “Lady Asha and his lawyer are already in attendance.” Shock courses through Theon. “It caught you unawares,” the steward notes. He grunts and pulls a letter from his pocket. “This was received this morning postmarked yesterday. We assumed the mail coach to have moved quickly enough with the speed in which it arrived.”</p><p>The sight of the lion and stag on the broken seal turns Theon’s stomach. Wordlessly, hands trembling, he takes it from him, but does not dare read.</p><p>“Your father being in the delicate state he is, requested I do with his correspondence what I feel appropriate. On those grounds, he is unaware of the contents, but I suggest you behave as you might should he have for the time being.”</p><p>Theon keeps his thoughts that this direction is unnecessary on account of Winterfell’s resolve to keep to himself and, after pocketing the letter himself and despite a great urge to embrace the man, only nods his thanks, finding himself rendered speechless. </p><p>Before Dagmer turns the handle to admit them both, he says, “the doctor believes it is the drink. There are signs of dropsy.”</p><p>Inside, the curtains are drawn and the air musty. He has prepared himself for the uncomfortable reality of final words, but Balon’s death rattle is already upon him. </p><p>The moment she hears the click of the door, Asha is on her feet, beckoning him to her side. Her hand is clammy when she reaches for his own.</p><p>“At last, you are here.”</p><p>He squeezes her hand but says nothing in return, glad to be here despite the resentment he has for their father. However he may feel, it is a stroke of luck to be here for her, and when he thinks back on it, somewhat cathartic to be in the complete surety that he has passed. When he looks back on the head of their family he is a frail man and not the terror he once was. They each shed tears at the point of which the noise ceases in the arms of each of. It is not the floods of grief many find themselves in, that has been knocked from them at a young age, and he cannot say his do not largely spring from relief in no small part. On their parting, he eyes the lawyer. </p><p>“It is all yours,” Asha tells him when she sees the shift in his gaze. The tone of her voice is forced and steady, it carries the pain of her exclusion and the repose of being in the relative safety of being subjected to being a dependent to her brother’s graces as opposed to an uncle’s. Then, in a whisper, she adds, “it was too late for whatever change he wished to make.”</p><p>Some would think it too soon and ill mannered to address such things, but Theon finally finds his voice to address the man in the corner of the room. “My sister’s income is to be doubled. She and, in the event of their existence, her children are to be my heirs presumptive. It should be ratified as soon as possible.”</p><p>With that, he takes a final look at his wax-faced lifelong adversary who has loomed over him since his earliest memories, and leaves.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>A fortnight following the funeral, Theon finds himself at Pyke in the repurposed small bedroom he now uses as his own study, the thought of being in his father’s own being abhorrent, attempting to make sense of the papers scattered across the tabletop. Balon’s feelings about him being what they were, he was never instructed in the ways of managing such an estate. It would be better done by Asha, he suspects, and he has a good mind to leave her to it. He is therefore glad of the knock at the door as a reprieve. </p><p>“Captain Trisitofer Botley, my Lord,” Uller, a footman, announces.</p><p>Watching the fellow enter with hat held close, Theon realises where he recognises the name from, it feels like a lifetime ago now.</p><p>“My Lord,” says the naval officer with no small degree of solemnity. “My commiserations on your father’s untimely death... I would understand should you refuse on account of my poor manners, but I am resolved to bring to you my wish to offer my hand to your sister. You see, sir, I am troubled by Mr Quenton Greyjoy’s intentions towards her and so I am forced to come to you earlier than I should ordinarily while you are still in mourning… Not that I have ever found myself in such a position, of course! I do hope you will excuse me.”</p><p>Theon frowns. It takes a moment or two for him to come to the realisation at which point a gurgle of laughter comes forth. “You have come for permission?“ Stood in front of the desk, Botley shuffles his feet and awkwardly looks back to the way he came in. “No, no, you misunderstand, sir!” Theon exclaims at seeing the man’s discomfort. “It is only that I do not see it as my business to interfere with Asha’s affairs in such a manner.” Then, he says with a smile, “I daresay should she hear of any sort of agreement between us it would be a disfavour to you.”</p><p>The curl of the captains own lips at the comment on Asha’s temperament reassures Theon that he knows what he is subjecting himself to. “Yes, I suspect you are right in that.”</p><p>“Good luck to you, sir.” The poor soul is going to need it. “I believe you will find her in the white drawing room with our mother.”</p><p>He bows his head. “I was requested to inform you Lord Winterfell awaits you at your convenience in the hallway outside.”</p><p>Theon couldn’t get to his feet faster. In fact, the chair threatens to turn over in his haste. “Please, send him in on your way out.” He tugs on his cravat fruitlessly, heart racing and Robb steps in mere moments later looking as anxious as he feels, only considerably wetter. The comment on it slips from his lips before he can catch it. “Zounds, did you swim?”</p><p>“The crossing was not as smooth as one would like.” A small smile plays on Robb’s face.</p><p>“What brings you here, Winterfell?” Theon asks, trying to become serious. He has some understanding of Robb’s behaviour in the assembly rooms now.</p><p>“I have brought you a copy of the week's paper. I know you are not one to read it scrupulously. However, there are a few notices that might interest you.”</p><p>Coming forwards toward him, Robb holds out the articles. Society has been busy while he has been hidden away on this god forsaken island, he can see. The first details the obituary of Lord Stormsend, dead of unknown cause. “Good god,” he mutters, trying not to sound too pleased by such a thing as he skims through the short piece. It is one less thing to be concerned about or come between them, even if they are still at odds. Then another notice, the announcement of Lady Sansa Stark to the Duke of Dragonstone made by her parents.</p><p>“I thought you had made it in time,” says Theon, looking back up at Robb with surprise.</p><p>“I did…” Robb rubs the back of his neck, nerves showing themselves. “Then, seeing my sister’s distress, I appealed to my parents for their mercy in the matter. I had some understanding of her predicament, for I too know the pain of being separated from the one they love so ardently.”</p><p>“Damn you!” Theon exclaims after a pause. “You think you may simply walk back into my life as and when you please!”</p><p>“No! I regretted our disagreement the moment I left, but I had a duty to my family - which I hope you will understand, you did after all do the same once -  and then of course I was prevented by the danger I put us each in. I know that was my fault also, having reacted so poorly, yet again.”</p><p>“You have such a large family it is a wonder you are not always at their beck and call,” Theon comments dryly.</p><p>“Theon,” Robb clears his throat, “though I am not able to make you family with any formality, I would like us to be so. Let me vow to you now that you are my priority.”</p><p>“You make it exceedingly difficult to remain angry with you…” With a heavy sigh, he walks around the table. “I am sorry for my conduct also. I spoke in anger.”</p><p>“Can you forgive me at least enough to attend the wedding?”</p><p>Smirking, Theon nods. “Only because it is sure to be society’s event of the season.”</p><p>“Of course.” Robb chuckles, now brave enough to move in on him, comes close until he has him up against the desk and kisses him soft and slow.</p><p>“And also because I need to be in your favour so that you might assist me with this mess,” adds Theon, moving a hand to Robb’s face to take him into another and ignoring how overcome he feels.</p><p>“I fear it will be worse before it improves,” Robb admits when they take a breath, first glancing over his shoulder at the work then pushing the coat from Theon’s shoulders and leaning into his neck to place tender kisses between the collar of the shirt and his jaw.</p><p>“It had best be a flyer; the hapless devil that came to see me is with my sister hoping to make her his fiancé and I should offer my congratulations or see that he made it out in one piece.”</p><p>Robb squeezes his side playfully. “Such romance you greet me with!”</p><p>“I hardly think you better,” laughs Theon and nips his earlobe.</p><p>Raising his eyebrows at him, Robb pulls back and purses his lips while he resists doing the same. “I intended to wait for a more… idyllic moment and setting, but I have a gift for you.” His hand feels inside his pocket and retrieves something that catches the light briefly. “I presumed you wouldn’t wish to wear your father’s ring and so I took the liberty…” Pressed into Theon's palm is a signet ring of onyx set in gold with a centred stripe of light grey across the kraken of his family carved intaglio. “I saw the stone and could not resist… for your mother,” Robb explains, “and...” Turning pink he turns the setting on the swivel point to show the reverse engraved RT intertwined. “You think it mawkish, I--”</p><p>“Hush,” Theon tells him while pushing it onto his small thing which does in fact remain predictably bare, “it is perfect.” He might not be able to wear it with the initials face out a good deal of the time but he will take comfort in them held so close and against his skin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for the lovely feedback you wonderful lot. It's very much appreciated and it, and the experience of writing the fic, may have led me into considering writing some original historical fiction... we shall see.</p><p>Much love and many thanks to the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/">Lydia_Martin_trash</a> for holding my hand yet again!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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